Oz
by pottermalfoy24
Summary: Crossover with CSI: Crime Scene Investigations. "Anyone else getting the feeling we're not in Nevada anymore?"
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury and Scholastic. "CSI; Crime Scene Investigations" belongs to Anthony Zuiker, CBS, Viacom and Alliance-Atlantis Communications. No copyright infringement is intended and no money has changed hands. _

A/N: It will be written from the CSI point of view, but I might make mistakes about episode continuity. That's why I'm going to try and avoid the personal aspects of the team. 

Happy Birthday, Demoncat! Sorry it's late. Everyone else, enjoy!

* * *

**Oz**

Prologue

_Sunday, August 14, 2005, 2:00 AM_

"You've got to be kidding me! Who in their right mind would let that guy anywhere near the slots?" 

"I don't know. Benny's the best. This place was a little bold even for him, though." 

Two bored casino security guards were watching the monitors during the graveyard shift and chatting about the day's gossip, anything to stay awake without resorting to the battery acid that was commonly referred to as coffee in the break room. 

Something caught the first man's eye and he said, "Hold it! Camera ten!" 

Two men were chasing each other through the corridors, shooting at each other. But it wasn't bullets flying through the air. It was strange multicolored lights, beams, spirals, sparkles and blasts. Both seemed to be adept at dodging the other's attempts and neither one was hit. The one who seemed to be the pursuer was dressed like he was just coming off the stage for a production of "The Phantom of the Opera", dressed all in black, including a hooded cloak, and wearing a white mask over his face. The one being pursued was dressed casually in a black tee shirt, blue jeans and sneakers. He was Caucasian, with long dark hair tied at his neck and glasses. The lights were coming from sticks held in either man's hand, but just what those sticks were, the guards couldn't tell from the cameras. 

The guards watched the fight continue through ten different camera views, when suddenly the "Opera" reject was hit from off camera by a blast of green and remained where he fell. The one in glasses whipped around to face this new threat, which hovered off the screen at stage left. Shocked recognition was plain on his face, before he, too, was struck by the green light and thrown into a wall, where he didn't move. 

"Call the cops, Jack."

* * *

_3:30 AM_

Grissom walked through the crime scene with Brass, getting his first impressions. The walls of the corridor were littered with sprinkles of color and target-centered blast marks. The marks were angled, seeming to indicate trajectory, but otherwise seemed to be normal, something that he would easily be able to understand. But the color was odd, and it didn't seem to have been formed by pigments, either. Certainly something to liven up a case that was already looking pretty lively. 

He waded through the sea of field-techs who were photographing and collecting what evidence they could. Some of the color was in the carpets, and swatches were being cut out for analysis back at the lab, along with the photographs and the surveillance camera footage. 

Grissom and Brass reached the first of the two bodies, the one everyone was calling the Phantom. No one had removed the mask yet, knowing that the team leader would want to do that for himself. He first took his own photos of the body. The hood of the cloak had fallen back to reveal long, straight, platinum hair. The clasp of the cloak was silver and fashioned as two coiled snakes, one on either lapel. His hands were covered by good leather gloves, and both held significant objects. 

In his left hand was a beautiful cane. The grip was silver and fashioned as the head of a viper. The eyes were sapphires or sapphire look-a-likes and the mouth was open to reveal dangerously sharp fangs. The body of the cane was black lacquer and silver tipped. An impressive piece, to be sure. Brass said, "Guy had a thing for snakes." Grissom just "hmm"ed noncommittally and photographed the cane head. 

In the corpse's right hand was a stick, but not just a twig you might pick up off the ground. Grissom shot it and then pulled it from the dead hand. It was a wooden pointer or wand, the handle carved beautifully into two twined ribbons. It was a fairly dark wood, and it was polished to a high sheen. He bagged the wand and labeled it. 

Finally, he came to the mask. Painted wood, it had large eye and nose holes. It was otherwise pretty unremarkable. Grissom reached down and pulled the mask off the face. Phantom was a middle aged man with gray eyes and an aristocratic face. Lines suggested a habitual sneer, and Grissom could easily see the man haughtily looking down his long, straight nose at people. He photographed the face and stood, moving onto the next body. 

He was a young man, twenty to twenty-five years old. Jet black hair that grew in several different directions was worn at shoulder length, probably to maintain control, but possibly as a stylistic statement. He was average height and physically fit. He wore a tight, plain black tee shirt, blue jeans and black trainers. Square, wire-framed glasses had been thrown askance on his face when he hit the floor. Unlike Phantom, this man's eyes had closed after being hit and he had dropped his wand, which lay next to him on the carpet. His face seemed to exude pain. 

Something wasn't clicking right for Grissom. Why did Victim #2 look so different from Victim #1 if they died by the same cause? 

That question was answered a second later when the "corpse" drew a shallow breath. Eyebrows flying into his hairline, Grissom quickly put two fingers to the young man's throat and found a weak pulse. "Brass, get some paramedics in here. This kid's alive. Barely."

* * *

_That's the prologue. This story will be written in six parts, this Prologue, four Acts and an Epilogue. I might be evil and put commercials in there just for laughs. I don't know yet. Reviews are always appreciated! _


	2. Act 1

_Disclaimer: See Prologue. _

A/N: To ratcreature, all I can say is that there are some obscure regulations getting in the way here. The Las Vegas Aurors Department will indeed be showing up, but LVPD was too quick to respond and the security cameras were still running. Other than that, you'll just have to wait and see. 

To Laughing Cat, thank you. And I kind of understand that. My mom's an RN, and she get's just as fussy about that kind of thing. Believe me gloves will be used. But I still might need your help. After all, the CSU are going to have to solve a magical crime with non-magical forensics techniques. They're going to have quite a bit of trouble, I'm sure. 

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Enjoy!

* * *

**Oz**

Act I

Grissom and Brass followed the ambulance to the hospital, leaving Homicide and Catherine in charge of the crime scene. The doctors did what they could do to stabilize the young man, but in the end it was going to be up to him. The attending spoke to the two cops. "He's sustained severe electrical trauma to his nervous system, basically short circuiting the whole thing. His brain wasn't as affected as the rest of the system, why we're not sure, but that allowed it to survive and basically reboot the system. He's stabilized and he's functioning without life support, but he's comatose, and there's no telling how long that will last. It could be anywhere from a day to never." 

Grissom nodded. "Did he have any ID on him?" 

The doctor shrugged. "There was a wallet, but that's all I know. His clothes and glasses are in a bag with his wallet and keys. We'll get them to you." He paused. "There was something else. There's a lot of scars on this kid, but one in particular is very significant. It's right in the middle of his forehead and it's shaped like a lightning bolt. It's also very old. But there was a wound in the middle of his chest that's shaped the same way, and it's cauterized. It was likely the entry point for whatever did this to him. He's been through this before." 

Grissom raised an eyebrow at the doctor. "You took a picture, I presume? Good. Put that with the kid's effects. Can we see him?" 

"As soon as we get him settled into ICU."

* * *

Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown looked at the ten minutes of surveilance tape that had captured the fight. There was no doubt that the tapes were authentic, but there was also no way to tell what the hell was going on. What were these lights? The only thing they could be certain of was that the blast marks and discolorations corresponded with a light that one of the two men had fired. 

Then they got to the end of the fight, the third party's sudden appearance off camera and his murder of one and attempted murder of the other. Nick said, "That's wild man. What the hell is that stuff?" 

Warrick shrugged. "Don't know." Then his eyes narrowed. "Hey, isn't there a utility closet right there?" He pointed to where the third man had to be standing. 

Slowly, Nick nodded. "I think you're right. Let's go see if he left anything behind." 

The closet was full of brooms and cleaning materials, but there was also a short foot stool, likely placed there by the killer. Warrick spotted a straight blonde hair on the carpet. He picked it up with tweezers and looked at it closely before placing it in an evidence baggie. "It's got a folicle. We'll see what DNA can get off of it."

* * *

The wallet contained 2500 dollars and 1700 British pounds, a roughly equal amount, a passport, a Brittish driver's liscence and two photos. The passport and liscence both proclaimed the comatose young man to be Mr. Harry Potter, aged 25 as of two weeks ago, and a wealthy British national. One of the photos showed a younger Potter with his arms around two similarly aged people, a man with flaming red hair and a woman with bushy brown hair. The two appeared to be a couple, and Potter their friend. The other was of another couple. At first glance you'd have thought that it was Potter and his girlfriend or wife, the girl with dark auburn hair and deep green eyes, and very pregnant, but the man in the photo had blue eyes, and thus couldn't be Potter. Grissom flipped the photo over. _James and Lily Potter, June 5, 1980._ The parents, then. 

Grissom was standing outside Potter's room in the ICU, just examining what evidence the kid had on him at the time of the attack. He looked through the glass at the patient, at all the various tubes an machines that were keeping him alive, and wondered just what the hell was going on. The wands that he and Phantom had been carrying were ornately carved, made from different woods. They didn't look like weapons, but obviously that's what they were. How they worked, though, was another question all together. 

Grissom's cell phone rang in his pocket. He turned away from the glass and went down the hall to a lounge to answer it so that he wouldn't be in violation of hospital regulations. "Grissom." 

"It's Nick." 

"What have you got?" 

"The killer was sitting on a stool in that utility closet at the end of the hall. He left behind a hair. I've sent it to DNA." 

"Good. Victim #2 is named Harry Potter. Check the hotel desk, see when he checked in, what room he's in, whatever you can find out. Keep me informed." He closed his phone with a snap and went back to staring at Potter. "Who are you, Mr. Potter?" The comatose man, of course, didn't answer him.

* * *

The hotel manager was eagerly cooperating with police on this. One of his high rollers had been axed in his hotel. It certainly wasn't good for business, and he wanted this thing solved quickly before rumors started to spread. "Mr. Potter was on vacation from Scotland, said he just wanted to experience Vegas once before he took over the family business." 

Warrick asked, "What business is that?" 

"He said something about security systems upgrades for older structures. He was talking about castles and manor houses and how easy it would be for the right thief to break in." 

Nick said, "How much did he bring with him to blow on this vacation?" 

"Three million pounds. I had to have it converted, it came to about $4.4 million US. He didn't dress like it, but he's loaded." 

"So, why Vegas?" 

"Someone gave him tickets for his birthday, said he thought, what the hell. He has to take over from the family in just two weeks, so might as well live it up while he can, right?" 

They had reached the Presidential Suite and the manager opened the room for them. It required a card key and a password of the client's choice. Potter's password was "Sirius". The manager left the two CSIs to themselves as they began to search the room, gloves on hands and evidence bags readily available. It was full of acoutrements, as one would expect the Presidential Suite to be, but what it wasn't full of was Potter's belongings. Nick said, "Where's this guy's stuff? There's nothing out, not even in the bathroom. The shower's been used, but everything in there is from the hotel." 

Warrick nodded. "Nothing in the drawers, either. Bed was slept in, but the maid hasn't been by yet. Woah." 

Nick looked up from where he was looking in the bare closet. Warrick was holding up a pair of throwing knives. "Under the pillow." The knives were simple and elegant, single pieces of steel. "Why does a guy on vacation keep throwing knives under his pillow?" 

Nick tripped as he headed over to look at the knives. He looked down, but he didn't see what it was. Warrick snorted. "Graceful." 

Nick frowned. "No, there's something here." He started moving his foot around until it struck something with a wooden sound. But still he saw nothing. He reached down with his hands slowly until he hit a surface at about two and a half feet above the floor. 

Moving his hands, he discovered that there was a cover over the object. The substance rippled as he moved it, so he gripped it and pulled it off. Underneath was an old style wooden trunk with the initials "HP" engraved on the latch. Nick stood up, bringing the cover with him. Out of the invisibility came a shimmering fabric that still played with the light as it was moved about. It was lightweight and smooth as silk and appeared to be a cloak of some kind. It wasn't invisible if it was bunched up, but if it hung straight or was laid flat, nothing could be seen. 

Nick and Warrick's eyes both bugged out. Neither had ever heard of such a material. There was no power source, no wires, no way for it to be a stage magician's trick, even a highly sophisticated one. Nick looked at his partner. "What the hell is going on here?" 

Warrick shook his head. "I don't know. Only one way to find out." 

They bagged the cloak and then turned to the trunk. The lock seemed to be simple, but they didn't want to break it open without first seeing if there was a key lying around. Their search, however, turned up nothing. Nick said, "Let's get this stuff back to the lab. Something really strange is going on, and there's no way we're going to find out what here."

* * *

They brought everything back to the crime lab and started sifting through what evidence they could access. 

The cloak was made from a completely unknown kind of animal fur that literally bent light away on one side. It could still be seen through if you were underneath it, however, because of the spaces in the weave. No one understood how this was possible, and the properties of the fibers made examining them under the microscope problematic at best. 

The lock on the chest couldn't be broken into, and when Warrick tried to actually break the lock, he recieved a shock, litterally. "I'll swear in court that it wasn't electricity, though. It felt weird, like ice." 

By this time, Grissom had returned to the lab, and he was listening to the less than conclusive results with frustration. "What about the hair you found in the closet? That at least is something we're used to dealing with." 

Nick nodded. "DNA came back. Male, but he's not in our database. Comparison to our Phantom came back. Six out of thirteen alleles match." 

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "His killer was his son."

* * *

_Now, we know who the killer is, but there's a lot more to deal with here. Means, motive and opportunity, ladies and gentlemen. _

Sorry about the lateness of this update. I don't have a computer at my house and all of my files are on Geocities, so I have to work when I can get back into town and hijack my Dad's computer. All of my stories are going to be taking longer than normal. It's rather unavoidable. Reviews are, as always, apreciated. 


	3. Act 2

_Disclaimer: See prologue. _

A/N: Thanks to all of my reviewers for talking to me. I do want to comment on one of your reviews, though. Lucius is not Harry's father. Lucius was killed by his son, the third party, Draco. I'm sorry if I didn't make that plain enough. 

Now, as to the photos in Harry's wallet, the one of Harry, Ron and Hermione is a Polaroid(c) and the one of Lily and James was frozen by a spell so that Harry could keep it in his wallet. After all, he wouldn't want to open it up to get cash out and have someone notice the moving pictures. There will be more on that in this Act of the story. 

Enjoy!

* * *

**Oz**

Act II

Sara and Greg took on the physical evidence; the carpet swatches, the crime scene photos, the two victims' clothing, wands and effects, and Potter's cloak and trunk. 

X-rays of the two wands revealed that they were hollow, and each had something inside of it. Potter's contained a feather of some kind. Phantom's held a fibrous strand. Sara looked closely at the film. "It looks like animal tendon." 

Greg agreed, then showed her his own findings. "I found a pattern in the discolorations from the fire fight." Sara followed the other field tech. He had laid out all of the photos and swatches on the light table and had drawn a diagram of the corridor on the dry erase board. "There were three different kinds of marks, all of which had a directional signature, just like a ricochet mark." 

"Right. The greater impact occurs last, so it's furthest away from the shooter. Good to know that physics still applies to some of this stuff." 

"Uh huh. Now, I've classified the marks by how destructive they were. The minor ones, labeled Level Three Events, only changed the color of whatever they hit. Level Two Events actually changed the composition of the impact site, like this one that changed the carpet fibers into salt crystals or the green one that caused it to sprout moss. And Level Ones left impact craters and char, and they were always bigger than the other two types. 

"Now, on the board, I marked each Event and the direction it was coming from. Potter and Phantom were running in this direction." He picked up a green marker and drew an arrow from right to left across the bottom of the diagram. "Notice anything?" 

Sara studied the diagram closely, then figured out what Greg was hinting at and raised an eyebrow. "Phantom was the only one firing Level Ones." 

"Exactly. And I'll bet that they're lethal." 

"Makes sense. So, Potter's on the defensive, but he's not using lethal force, even though Phantom obviously wants him dead. Question is, why?"

* * *

Nick and Warrick had all of the video evidence. They followed Potter's movements from his check in to the fire fight. There were no cameras in the rooms, of course, but all public and employee areas were under constant surveilance. With the kind of money that was flowing through the hotel/casino, it was absolutely necessary. The CSIs wanted to know if someone might have been following Potter or paying him any special attention. 

During the first half of the day, between the time he checked in, put down his cash and got his chips and noon, Potter played all different kinds of games and he did fairly average, losing about a million to his high-stakes betting. Then he went to lunch in the hotel's four-star restaurant. Nothing special happened at all until he got back on the floor. 

The second half of the day went quite differently. He went to the one craps table that had payed out for him that morning and stayed on it, betting high and rolling big. He didn't lose a single toss the whole evening, but there was nothing to indicate that he was cheating, save for the sheer number of favorable tosses. 

And then, before taking dinner in the hotel restaurant again, he dropped every bit of his winnings in a collection box for local teen charities. 

Nick shook his head. "He doesn't need the money, I guess. If he's cheating, he's just doing it for kicks." 

Warrick nodded absently, his eyes following a suspicious character who was staring at Potter as he walked off the casino floor. The man was dressed all in black; a buttoned down shirt, tie, slacks and leather shoes set off his pale skin and blonde hair. Glinting silver on his right hand was probably a ring. But most interesting of all was just how much he looked like Phantom. "Bingo." He pointed to the man on the screen and started isolating a close up of the man. "Dead ringer for our Phantom. He's got to be the third man." 

Nick looked at the enhansed head shot. "Yeah. So what's Phantom Jr.s motive?" 

Warrick shrugged. "Got to figure out who these people are before we can know that."

* * *

Grissom and Catherine had tried and failed to find out anything about either of their two victims. They sent finger prints to the nearest Brittish Consulate, but neither was very hopeful that there would be a return on that investment of time. 

Meanwhile, Greg had tackled the puzzle of the trunk. "There's got to be a way to get into this thing. Otherwise, what's the point?" 

Grissom, who had just gotten back from checking on Potter at the hospital, said, "Right. Every security system has a solution. It has to, of the person using it is also locked out." 

"The key wasn't on his key ring or in his pockets, so maybe it's hidden in something else." 

Sara said, "Wasn't there a wallet?" 

And her hunch proved to be correct. Taped to the back of the photo of Potter and his friends was an old-style brass key that had matching scrollwork to the trunk. 

Gloving up, everyone got ready to delve into the trunk's contents. With the direction the case was going in, there was no telling what they might find there, but they knew that they trunk was heavy and therefore full, so they would all be needed to help catalog the contents. 

Greg inserted the key, automatically tensing for the strange shock that had met every other key and lock pick, but it didn't come. He looked around at the rest of the team, then turned the key in the lock. It clicked and released, and Greg lifted the lid out of place. 

They had suspected clothes, jewels, weapons, even drugs. After all, it would have given them a motive. They found clothes, normal every-day clothes and one suit with glistening dress shoes. But they also found robes, and garments resembling something out of the sixteenth century. They were dark blues and greens with metalic trims, gold, silver and copper, and they were made from silks and fine cottons. They had beautiful embroidery on them, while remaining simple and elegant, rather than poufy or showy. 

And there was a little jewelery, a gold class ring with a ruby set in it, the words "Gryffindor Seeker" wrapped around the stone, and a gold locket. It opened to reveal two more pictures of Potter's parents. The photos were themselves, extremely interesting because they moved and even seemed aware! Both figures seemed surprised and worried to see anyone but their son looking at them. 

And they found weapons. There was a beautiful silver sword with rubies the size of eggs set in the hilt. Beneath the gems was a name, "Godric Gryffindor". There was old blood on the hilt and grip, but the blade had been meticulously cleaned and oiled. There was also a dagger enscribed with the words, "To my godson, from Sirius Black. Sometimes Muggle tricks are the best tricks." And finally there was a .9mm Glock, fully loaded, with a Brittish consealed-carry permit together in a little box. 

There were books of spells and potions next to books on military strategy, quills, parchment and bottled ink next to spiral notebooks and cheep ballpoint pens. There was a photo album with more moving pictures and there was a Polaroid(c) camera. A small leather bag proved to be full of gold coins the size of quarters. And finally, there was a business card that said, "United States Post Owl Department, Las Vegas, Nevada". It gave a street adress that would have put it just outside of town. No one remembered anything being there, but at this point, it was a lead worth checking out. 

Catherine flipped through the photo album. The first few pages were all of Potter's parents and himself as an infant. But there were no older pictures of those parents. There was, however, a newspaper clipping from November 1, 1981, that stated the Potters had been killed, and that somehow fifteen-month-old Harry had survived, with only the lightning-bolt scar to tell the tale. Other photos of Potter as a twelve and thirteen-year-old were present, and then some later ones in what looked like a graduation cap with a witch's hat punched up through the middle. 

The glock didn't have a history that Greg could find, other than the purchase reciept and two reciepts from a firing range in Glasgo, Scotland. The licence also had Glasgo on it. All of the reciepts and the licence had dates spanning a two week period just one month ago, so the gun hadn't likely been used outside the range. 

Most interesting were the books. _Potions For Aurors; A History of Magical Law; Civil and Criminal Laws For Magical Persons, Beings and Creatures; The History of Magic, A Condensed History for Muggle Parents of Hogwarts Students._ Grissom decided he should read all of them. Maybe they would give him some answers.

* * *

Grissom sat next to Potter's bed in an uncomfortable hospital chair wondering if the young Auror would ever wake up. 

Once he'd known what to do from reading through all of Potter's books, he had taken the wizard's wand out and tapped theinside of his wallet three times, which caused Potter's badge to reveal itself. "Auror 2nd Class, Great Brittain" and "Special Tasks Division" were engraved on the badge, and it had a very recent wizard photo of Potter. The kid was a wizard and a cop. The question was, what should he, Grissom, do about that? 

The notes in the margins of Potter's lawbooks told of a civil war going on in the wizarding community of Brittain. A terrorist group called the Death Eaters had a lot of political and financial support and they were trying to take over Brittain, enslave the Muggles and kill all the wizards who had been born from Muggle families. The most common epithet was "Mudblood". The Special Tasks Division were a group of Aurors who were mandated to stop this threat. 

The problem was that, apparently, corruption was rank throughout the Brittish Ministry of Magic, and that includid the Auror Department. He thought that Potter's superior, Kingsley Shacklebolt, might be his best bet, because there was a letter poked inside the Potions book from him that told Potter, _"If you don't take a vacation with those tickets you got for your birthday, I'm going to throw your arse in a cell so even you can't get out of it! You're overworked and your reaction time is going to suffer. This is an order, Harry. Don't make me fire you."_ The man sounded like a good commander, concerned for the well being of his people. But what if it was a trap, and Potter had been sent to Vegas for the purpose of getting him killed? 

Grissom stood and walked out of the hospital, heading for the exit. It was time to check out the Post Owlery. Maybe he would get som answers from them, as they were the only wizards he had any chance of getting into contact with. 

Back in the hospital room, Harry's eyelids fluttered briefly. His EKG showed a brief alteration in his brainwave patterns, just before the machine shorted out. Panicked doctors and nurses couldn't get into the room as the door had been somehow locked. By the time that the officer guarding the door had xhot the lock off, however, Harry had lost his tenuous hold on consciousness and the EKG was ticking away once more.

* * *

_I hope you liked it! Reviews are always welcome! _

After the commercials: 

"What the hell do you expect to do with that information? There's no way you can prosecute this case!" "No. But I'd like to know how to deal with this if it ever comes up again." "It's classified!" "There's a killer with a wand out there, Major! I don't care if it's classified Top Secret!" 


End file.
